


Like the Chapel in a Hospital

by ashardoffreedom



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic), Hockey RPF
Genre: Alexei Mashkov is six feet five inches of aborable, All of my formatting disappeared? Send Help, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Genderbending, Hockey, I need a genderbent AU, M/M, Misogyny, Multi, Sexism, jack and kendel don't do feelings very well, kendel parson is a cinnamon roll, kendel totally looks like avril lavigne, literally no one can hate eric bittle, shitty knight deserves a medal of honor, sidney crosby is a hero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8460226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashardoffreedom/pseuds/ashardoffreedom
Summary: Kendel “Parse” Parson went 1st overall in the NHL draft this year, to the Las Vegas Aces, making her the first woman since Sidney Crosby to go first in the draft. Although many speculate, critics often point to Jack Zimmermann’s notable absence in the draft to Parson’s success. Or: Kent is a girl. It changes some things. (But in the end, it changes absolutely nothing.)





	

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

Jack’s damning final words to her were a text message.

 _To Jack_ : Are you okay? I’m worried about you.

 _To Jack_ : I’ll be back after it’s all over, okay? Don’t watch it.

 _To Jack_ : I texted your mom, she’s going to make sure that you don’t watch the draft.

 _To Jack_ : Zimms? Just respond.

 _To Jack:_ It’s starting. I’m thinking about you.

 _To Jack:_ I love you.

 _To Jack_ : I’m all done. Do you want me to come by the hospital?

 _To Jack_ : Did you revoke my visiting privileges?

 _To Jack:_ It’s been three days, I’m worried.

 _To Jack:_ Asshole, I’m leaving tomorrow, let me at least say goodbye!

 _To Jack_ : I’m heading out soon. I’ll stop by after training camp maybe? Love you.

 _To Jack:_ Please. I know this is hard, but I love you! You love me! I can understand if it won’t work anymore, I don’t blame you, just let me say goodbye! Please. Jack.

 _From Jack_ : Let’s stop. It wasn’t real anyway. We were just teammates who hooked up.

 _To Jack:_ What

 _From Jack:_ I never loved you.

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

_June 27th, 2009_

**KENDEL PARSON: THE NEXT SID THE KID?**

_Kendel “Parse” Parson went 1st overall in the NHL draft this year, to the Las Vegas Aces, making her the first woman since Sidney Crosby to go first in the draft._

_It has been only four years since Sidney Crosby broke both regulation and tradition to pieces by being the first woman to enter into an NHL contract. Now the youngest captain, the first female captain, a Stanley Cup holder and the holder of Olympic Gold, many viewed Crosby as the exception to the rule. Despite the ten—now eleven—women playing in the NHL, all offensive positions and all Canadian or American, Sidney Crosby is the example most call upon when saying that women can play in the NHL—or that women shouldn’t._

_Although people expected great things of Kendel Parson when she entered the draft, no one expected that she would take it by storm. Now creating a pattern, Parson is the second women in the world to go first in an NHL draft. With the position of right wing and an Aces cap on her head, the blonde bombshell was the first player to walk across the stage last night. Could we be seeing the rise of the next Sidney Crosby—only four years after the woman herself?_

_Although many speculate, critics often point to Jack Zimmermann’s notable absence in the draft to Parson’s success. Zimmermann and Parson were considered the ultimate pair to come out of the draft picks for this year, working together to demolish the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League, Parson being the winger to Zimmermann’s center. With Zimmermann holding the captaincy, Parson held the A. Zimmermann was the favorite for the draft, a place that went to Parson in the draft. Since their dramatic debut, fans have often considered Parson the “female Zimmermann.”_

_With Zimmermann in rehab and Parson taking the draft alone, the hockey world can only wonder:_

_What is Kendel capable of without Zimmermann holding her up?_

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

The funny thing is, Kendel thinks on the plane to Vegas, Kendel could bury Jack Zimmermann with one press conference.

Whatever his bullshit excuse, whatever he had to say, his “I never loved you”, Kendel and Jack were friends for years before they entered into a relationship.

Not a relationship, she remembers flatly, just “teammates hooking up.”

So Kendel knows things.

Things like “Jack Zimmermann is bisexual, has hooked up with male teammates, has hooked up with female teammates, a.k.a. Kendel.”

Being bi would basically bury a hockey player into the deepest hole you could never crawl out of.

Being bi also meant that she only knows because she had been in a relationship with Jack, which makes Kendel the hysterical needy crazy ex-girlfriend looking for attention. Professional hockey teams do not draft the hysterical needy crazy ex-girlfriend to their teams.

So it is mutually assured destruction, really. Maybe that was why Jack had waited until after to tell her (to rip her heart into a hundred pieces).

But she still knows.

Hell, Kendel had proof.

She could ruin that boy. The hockey legacy. The sun to her shadow, that “reason that she was really drafted—they settled for the female version.”

Kendel Parson could ruin Jack Zimmermann’s entire life.

Not that she would.

But it was something that stupid, beautiful, Canadian hockey robots should have remembered before flushing their goddamn three year relationship down the fucking drain.

Sometimes Kendel thinks she’s a saint.

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

Kendel Parson has been added to a group chat!

 _From 555-677-8811:_ WELCOME TO THE CLUB BITCH

 _From 555-322-0576_ : JOIN USSSS ~~~~~

 _From 555-677-8811_ : JOIN USSSS ;) ;) ;)

 _From 555-895-5857_ : JOIN USSSSSSSS

 _From 555-398-4445_ : JOIN USSSSSS

 _From 555-022-4767_ : Ignore all of them. Congrats on the draft!

 _From Kendel_ : Um. Who are all of you and how did you get this number?

 _From 555-022-7467:_ Sidney Crosby. I got it from Mario who got it from Bad Bob. Thought that I’d welcome you to the group.

 _From Kendel:_ SIDNEY CROSBY?? This had better not be a joke.

 _From 555-677-8811_ : Ah yes. Here comes the hero worship.

 _From 555-677-8811_ : But yeah, it’s true. We try to catch all the newbies. Well, Sid does, the rest of us come along for the ride.

 _From 555-895-5857:_ The major leagues are a rough life to get used to, so we have to stick together.

 _From Sidney Crosby:_ Don’t be rude. Introduce yourselves.

 _From 555-322-0576:_ Taylor Seguin!

 _From 555-895-5857:_ Jordan Staal ;P

 _From 555-677-8811_ : P. Kane at your service ~~~~~

 _From 555-398-4445:_ Erica Skinner

 _From Sidney Crosby_ : There’s about five others that aren’t really around in the group chat as regularly as us, but we’re here for you if you need us.

 _From Jordan Staal:_ And I hate to say it, but you’re on the west coast. You’re going to need us.

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

The west coast. Hockey’s beautiful wasteland of female hockey players.

As in Kendel is the only one.

Segs is the next closest, and if she wanted to see her, there would be a good three hour plane ride to get there. Kendel and Taylor met halfway after training camp because dear god:

“Have they never seen a woman before?” Kendel had complained.

Taylor had just laughed and laughed and laughed.

Her teammates were just . . . so goddamn awkward around her. Kendel had a reputation, she knew that she did, of taking no shit, because honestly, that was the way to survive when you were a girl in this world. So her teammates ranged from Handy, one of her fellow draftmates, who couldn’t look her in the eye and was determined not to look anywhere else, to Patsy, who had been around for “ten years without women on this fucking team and we did just fine without them.”

They refused to check her or they checked too hard. They leered in the locker rooms or didn’t look at her at all.

It would get better, she knew, it had gotten better in Juniors, it would get better here, even without Jack to grease the way. At least they didn’t speak goddamn French in Vegas.

When Kendel asked Taylor how long that it would take, she shrugged.

“It depends on who you’re with,” she said through a mouthful of diner fries. “For example, Pat was traded four times—twice because she had called a guy out for sexual harassment, twice more for not bringing the ‘right attitude’ a.k.a. she was a mouthy bitch. I was traded a hot three seconds after I decided to let loose like the other guys and attempted to pick up, but now Jamie keeps everyone off my back, so it’s a good life. Pat has found her niche. It’s cliché, but just do your thing. If they want to blame your mood on PMS, slam them into the boards. If they won’t look at you, score goals on their ice time. Break the ‘girl’ idea in their heads and become the ‘hockey player.’”

Well, if there was one thing that Kendel Parson could do, it was slam people into the boards.

Taylor swallowed and drug another fry in ketchup. “And I hate to say it, but if you want to make things easier, find a male teammate who will treat you normally and make him get the rest of them to notice. They’ll listen to each other more than they’ll listen to you.”

Kendel grimaced. “The hockey equivalent of the ‘I have a boyfriend’ card?”

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” Taylor commiserated.

No female hockey player had had an easy life. Taylor told her life story over greasy diner food that was definitely not on their nutrition plans, but screw nutrition plans. She had been traded, like she had said, because of her PR—or rather, because of how bad her PR had gotten.

“If there’s one thing that you’re going to learn in this league, it’s that we’ve got roles to play with the media,” Taylor said, shaking a fry. “We fit into molds. Sid’s the Ice Queen. Jordan’s the Girl Next Door. I just happened to be the Slut.”

She finished off their meeting with this token of advice:

“Don’t go for a teammate. Ever.”

Kendel attempted to smirk. “That one I know.”

Something must have shown on her face, because Taylor crushed her into a hug before she left.

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

In the end, surprisingly, the hockey equivalent of ‘I have a boyfriend’ is played for Kendel by the two d-men on her line, Nathan “Rusty” Rushton and Greg “Bolter” Boltzmann.

It’s during a pre-season game, which is probably why Kendel is getting as much ice-time as she is. She’s got good, if not perfect, chemistry with her center, a nice Russian named Nikolai who has been unfortunately saddled with Nike as a nickname. The “Just Do It” chirps are numerous and all go completely over the poor guy’s head.

Kendel gets a goal and an assist before the Sharks tilt their head and think “hmm, maybe we should pay attention to the five foot ten female monstrosity currently killing our game.”

So they check her. Hard.

And of course, Handy, with his gentleman manners and European chivalry, is out for blood. He lands in the box three times within the next period.

Kendel wants to smack him on his perfect hockey ass. She settles for the damn player who checked her, then slips one in right past the goalie’s glove.

Instead of her typical celly, she skates right up to Handy, smacks him hard on the helmet with her glove and screams in the loudest voice that she can:

“PLAN THE GODDAMN GAME AND STUFF YOUR CHIVALRY UP YOUR ASS. I CAN HANDLE MYSELF.”

Her voice is ridiculously high-pitched and she hates herself.

Handy looks shocked. Kendel’s eyes widen when she registers what she did. She cannot be that girl. She can’t be a female in the sports world and yell at your male teammates. She can’t get red with anger, or tear up out of frustration, or have her voice got too high. Because then she’s suddenly reminded the world that she’s a weak-willed woman under all of those pads, and weak-willed women can’t be hockey players.

Bolter saves her by slapping Handy on the ass, laughing, and says, “She’s right, Handy, our little wing can take care of herself.”

Rusty joins in, “You should watch out for yourself, can’t even throw a decent right hook.”

Handy sputters in defiance and the team looks on indulgently and they win with Carster’s shutout, 4-0. Kendel is the MVP of the game, with her two goals and one assist.

That’s the turning point.

Suddenly it’s Berty sitting next to her a handing her bobby pins while she pulls her rat’s nest of a hair into a crown braid, marveling at her fingers weaving the strands together, chattering on about his kids. Suddenly it’s Carster helping her after practice on her accuracy, watching her with that intense goalie-stare of his. (Carster is probably one of her favorites, because he had always looked at her like a goalie looks at a winger, not like a man looks at a woman.)

Suddenly, it’s not a big deal that Kendel is a Top Forty’s Princess, and when she feels the need to bust out into a rousing chorus of Teenage Dream, Backster is going to sing along with her, and everyone else is going to join in, because really, who doesn’t know the words to that song?

Suddenly, when they’re having team bonding night, sitting around playing Super Smash Bros., Kendel demolishes them all, shouts “Suck it, bitch!” and Carster goes, “Wouldn’t if I could,” and everyone just laughs.

Sure, there’s a moment when Handy starts flirting with her, but Kendel shuts that down fast.

She’s done that before. She doesn’t need to do that again.

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

Taylor’s right: the media do find a niche for her.

Pat’s already taken the honored trophy of Party Princess, but Kendel finds herself into a Punk Rock/One of the Boys/That Girl is Probably on the Good Drugs and Wears Too Much Eyeliner sort of mold. Which means, to the media, she’s essentially Pat and Taylor rolled together in a younger package that listens to My Chemical Romance on repeat.

That last part may be true, but she was a teenager during the 2000s. Sue her.

And apparently, she wears too many baseball caps backwards and too many ratty jeans with her oversized hoodies because now everyone’s wondering: Kendel’s a lesbian, right?

Because apparently, not being a knockout means not being straight.

Fuck you, Universe, have you met Taylor Seguin?

It means that one day, when Kendel walks into the locker room for morning skate with a hickey on her right collarbone, Nike, bless his poor Russian heart, is bribed to haltingly ask her if she got from boy or girl mouth?

Kendel is dumbfounded for a hot second just by the butchered phrasing.

Then she just smirks and says, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Because honestly, keeping her sexuality up in the air is probably her best option right now. If she’s straight, she’s a distraction in the locker room and obviously she’s getting with all the boys. If she’s gay, she’s proof that a real woman wouldn’t be caught dead playing hockey for a career. She’s trying to be a guy.

(She lucks out that the media never get a hold of that hookup.

She was lonely and she heard the chime of her phone for that google alert that she really should have shut down for her own health and found out that Zimms was playing hockey again, Zimms was healthy and clean and at a college named Samwell, doing just hunky-dory with his life and

_I never loved you._

So she found a cheap bar with decent men with low standards that didn’t care that her boobs were small and her nose had been broken at least twice and that she had more bruises from hockey than could easily be explained away and really, no one honestly wants a girl with that many abs showing.

He was nice though and so good in bed.

His name was Adam and he left a number that she might have called, if it were a few years later.

But it's now, so she throws it away without looking at it.

She can’t do a relationship, not even one without hockey.)

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

Just like there are all different kinds of men who play hockey, among the eleven of them, there are all different kinds of women.

Pat likes to be pretty. She likes dresses and rom-coms and romance YA novels. If she’s going out to a bar, she’s looking nice. She’ll go to a beach in bright bikinis and pretty wraps and matching sunglasses. She was raised in a family of girls, and it shows in how she does her makeup and the fashion sense that she has.

Pat explains to her once that it would have been easier for the NHL to accept her if she wasn’t like that. “The world’s problem with me is, if hockey wasn’t my career, I could be any stereotypical white chick on the block,” Pat explains.

Kendel . . . not so much. If someone ran into Kendel on the street, they’d probably assume that she was a particularly plain-looking sixteen-year-old on her way to the skate park. She likes to wear her hair long and her baseball caps backwards. She likes converse and skinny jeans, considers bras to be an optional fashion statement and there is no such thing as too many layers or too much plaid. She can’t really fault the media for making her into nineties’ grunge with eyeliner.

When the NHL awards come around, the group chat explains to her that she has to wear a dress, she’s not getting out of it. There wasn’t any regulations for it, Sidney had explained, but they liked to remind the world that it’s women up there winning those awards, not men with some strange plumbing.

So she slips into an almost-too-tight purple dress that makes it seem like she actually has boobs and hips, and she wears some heels that apparently make her legs look great. Kendel had assumed that it wouldn’t be any harder than ice skating.

Kendel assumed wrong.

The NHL awards was a sight to behold.

Somehow, she finds herself with Sidney Crosby.

Sidney has a lot going for her in the looks department. She’s different than Pat or Segs—Sidney’s not trying. She’s not wearing makeup, her dress plain and not particularly eye-stopping, but it doesn’t have to be. Sidney has a good face, longer hair that you would expect from her interviews and the most confident walk this side of the Mississippi. And honestly, her lips and ass are making Kendel question whether she’s really as straight as she thought she was.

And suddenly, she’s reminded that Sid sat here four years ago being the only female hockey player in the room. The other ten of them came later. She thinks of all the help that she’s gotten from Erica and Segs and Pat, and knows that Sid had to do it all first. Whatever Kendel’s suffering through, Sid did too, and she did it alone.

Sidney Crosby is a hero.

And when Sid screams in Kendel’s ear after she’s won the Calder, Kendel decides that everything is worth it.

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

 **An Interview with Kendel Parson** :

 _ **Sports Weekly** **:**_ You’ve won the Calder and you’ve recently been named Captain for the coming season. What was your response to all of these honors at once?

 _ **Kendel Pars** **on:**_ Honestly, the NHL awards were like a really, really good dream. When I was growing up, women being in the NHL were unheard of. And then Sid comes along. And there I was, having Sid scream in my ear because I won the Calder. And when John came up to me and asked me if I was willing to take on the captaincy, I said yes. Because the team thought that it was for the best, and I’ll be damned if I let them down.

 _ **SW:**_ You have lots of respect for Sidney Crosby.

 _ **KP:**_ Of course I do. You can’t be a woman in this league and not be a bit awed by Sidney Crosby. Everything that I’ve done, or that Pat’s done, or that Seg’s done, we can do all of that because Sid did it first. I didn’t have to worry about my captaincy being under scrutiny because I’d be the first woman captain in the league because hey, look over at Pittsburg—Sid’s been a captain for five years.

 _ **SW:**_ Do you consider having Sidney Crosby around gives you more personal freedom?

 _ **KP:**_ I don’t know if you can say that. Sidney was the first, but a lot of people are just looking for an excuse to say that Sidney was the exception to the rule. The other ten of us—we’re trying to prove that there’s no exception. Women deserve a spot here. Sid was the first and she broke records for hockey players—not women hockey players, all hockey players.

 _ **SW:**_ People have often compared you to Sidney Crosby. Do you feel that you’re proving the “exception to the rule” theory wrong as well?

 _ **KP:**_ Of course. Not just Sidney Crosby can go first in the draft. Not just Sidney Crosby can captain a team. We’re different people, but we’re both women. We are blowing their expectations out of the water.

 _ **SW:**_ Moving on a different topic, what’s probably the hardest part of being a woman on a professional hockey team?

 _ **KP:**_ The smell, definitely. I’m surrounded by men who have never heard of deodorant or body spray. I’m lucky that I haven’t died from the fumes.

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

Kendel had lied. The worst part about being a girl on a hockey team was the chirping.

You get used to it. But sometimes it hits too hard.

Because sometimes it’s not chirping. And sometimes, Kendel is looking through her visor at her opponent through a faceoff and just freezes because did they really just say that? Did they really just tell her how much she must need a cock because apparently she thought that she had the balls to be here? Did they really just threaten to basically rape her on the ice? Did they say that about her father? About her period? About her teammates?

And sometimes, Kendel hears that and freezes, because years of being raised a girl means that she recognizes a bad situation when she sees one.

Years of being a hockey player means that she drops her gloves and shows him that she does indeed have the balls to be here, thank you very much.

Oh, she gets reamed out for her time spent in the penalty box later, and the media starts saying that she is clearly unstable, but Kendel doesn’t care.

Carster comes by and sits next to her later and asks what’s going on.

“You don’t get it,” she explains while tugging off your skates. “I see the posters and the jeers and the chirps and I know that all of it is bullshit but the problem is that not all of it is bullshit. Enough of it is true that it hurts, and that doesn’t even account for the fact that a lot of what they’re saying would be grounds for a lawsuit if I was anything other than a hockey player. Every woman has an instinctual fear that one day a man is going to put her in a position that she doesn’t want to be in. And every time I get out on the ice, I get told that they’re going to do that.”

“What?” Carster gets that scary look in his eyes that only goalies can have.

“It’s not all the time and it’s not every team,” Kendel says with a half-smile. “You guys would never do that and Sid pretty much has her boys whipped. Toews would smack down anyone who said something like that. But when I’m out there on the ice, I’m going to have the deal with the chirps that I get. Because I love hockey and that means that I have to stand up for my right to be there.”

She’d drop her gloves every time.

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

Kendel does not know what possesses her to go see Jack Zimmermann.

She had moved on with her life, she thought. And sure, she hadn’t been in any sort of relationship out of hotel room one-night-stands who definitely wouldn’t be able to tell her from another blonde bimbo from across the block, but her life wasn’t terrible.

She had a Stanley Cup ring for crying out loud.

But she wanders down to Samwell after a close game against the Falconers.

The Falconers are a unique brand of people. They don’t have a woman on the team, but the chirps were surprisingly clean. She had a face off against a giant Russian named Alexei Mashkov and when she had slipped the puck from right under his stick, he had sworn in Russian and told her that she couldn’t do it twice.

So she did.

Mashkov had glared at her all the way out of the stadium and Kendel had smirked when she went off to do her press release.

Mashkov catches her outside of the locker room. Kendel is cautious. Nike is a nice enough guy, but Russia is the least friendly of all the main hockey-playing nations about the fact that girls are now in the NHL, convinced that it's unseemly and a degradation of the sport. Mashkov doesn’t seem like a believer, but then again, no one really does.

He is such a large man. Kendel has been surrounded by extremely fit men for all of her life, but there is something about how goddamned tall that he is that makes her feel small in the best way. He has muscle and eyes like warm chocolate and really good hair—

And Kendel hasn’t had sex in a while. That is the only reason for her eyes getting away from her.

“Good game,” Mashkov says easily.

Kendel leans against the wall next to him. She’s wearing her baseball cap backwards and her hair long, draping against an unflattering flannel, with jeans that probably have more holes that fabric and combat boots. “It was a good game for me.”

“Was good game regardless,” Mashkov retorts. “Was good game with pretty winger scoring two points off poor unsuspecting Snowy.”

Kendel rolls her eyes. “I’ve been around too many hockey players for a line like that to work, Mashkov.”

His eyes crinkle and goddamn he is attractive. “Not looking for anything. Just don’t think that people have told Kendel that her hockey is as pretty as her.”

And now Kendel is blushing.

“You smooth motherfucker,” Kendel laughs. “For that you get my Instagram account.”

“How about number? I already follow you and your cute cat.”

Kendel hesitates. If the media has made her cautious of anything, it’s dating another hockey player. Taylor gets enough shit for sleeping with non-hockey players and the drama of Pat’s very public and very criticized relationship with her captain was painful.

Mashkov smiles quietly. “As friend, yes? You can be pretty and still be friend.” He leans in conspiratorially. “You have seen Snowy? I make exception for him, I make exception for you.”

So now an adorably awkward Russian Falconer has her number.

Maybe her subconscious has decided that she needs a reminder that she’s not allowed to date anyone with a number on their back, because she decides to go visit Jack Zimmermann.

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

There have been many moments in Kendel’s life that she has wished that she was a man. When she first got her period, when she had stars in her eyes for the NHL before Sidney Crosby had been drafted, when she had a crush on Jack Zimmermann, when her draft years were shadowed with the phrase “for a girl.”

Never had she wished to be a man harder than when she met Eric Bittle.

She sees Eric next to Jack laughing about something, cute and small and blonde. She sees Eric after her fight with Jack—because she wants to know why he’s been avoiding her for four fucking years, why he refuses to look her in the eye—bowed and humble and smart and beautiful.

And she sees the way that Jack looks at her and all that she can think is:

He’s a prettier, smaller, male version of me.

Kendel has languished under two things in her life:

1\. She’s a woman in a sport that was not built for or accommodating for women (but she loves it anyway.)  
2\. She’s a woman in the spotlight without the beauty that the spotlight wants (and she hates it so much.)

Kendel has never been worth much on her own, but she’s fought and clawed her way to everything that she’s had. She got everywhere she is today on her own two feet, despite the chains that say that the NHL is a man’s sport.

But sometimes, she looks in the mirror and hates what she sees—because how could Jack have ever loved a woman who doesn’t look like a woman but could never be a man? And now she looks at Eric and sees his unbroken nose and his curves that are better than hers and his hair that probably never tangles.

Kendel brushes past Jack and walks away. She gets her ass kicked in Beer Flip by a lovely woman named Lardo and she wishes that Segs was here because this girl would sweep her off her feet. She drinks too much and she forgets that it’s been a long time since she’s drank too much until she’s throwing up behind the bushes in the backyard of a college that she’s never attended with her previous fuck buddy now in love with an adorable sweet Southern boy.

She doesn’t realize that she’s crying into her vomit until there are hands running up and down her back, soothing her. For a moment, she thinks that it’s Jack, then she realizes that it’s impossible, because Jack would never be soothing her. It makes her cry harder for a few more seconds.

When she calms down, she brushes away the last of her tears and wipes her mouth. She feels more drained and empty than she has in the longest time. She feels like she needs something to fill her up, but she worries that it’s just going to be worse than it was before.

The person who had been rubbing her back is a long-haired boy with an impressive mustache. He’s Jack’s friend, the one who helped him lose spectacularly to Lardo.

“Sorry,” Kendel forces out of her acid-burned throat.

“No need to say sorry,” he says, “just wondering if you were okay, Kenny.”

Kendel freezes. “Why would you call me Kenny?”

“Shit, do you not like it? Jack calls you that all the time so I thought that it would be okay—“ The man is running his hands through his extremely impressive mane nervously.

Kendel is wide-eyed with shock. “What do you mean? Jack talks about me?”

The man pauses. “Let’s go someplace else. I feel that I’m going to need more alcohol for this conversation.”

Kendel is too dazed and likely too drunk to even think about arguing. He grabs a bottle of favored vodka from the kitchen and leads her up to the attic, to a surprisingly comfortable looking room.

“Since you’re in my bedroom and everything, my name’s Shitty,” he says with a swig of the vodka.

Kendel has been around too many hockey players because the name doesn’t even phase her at all. “Kendel Parson, but I think that you already knew that.”

He knocks back another drink before offering the bottle to her. Kendel waves it away.

“So here’s what I’ve got,” Shitty rhapsodizes. “Jack has told me about you. Hasn’t really explained the situation very well, but he does talk about you a decent amount. From what I can tell, you were together for a little while, then he got hospitalized and you went first in the draft. Your relationship degraded and now you’re here, crying in the bushes.”

Shitty paused before he started again. “So now I see a girl who won’t let go and man who’s trying to do his best to distance himself. Maybe you would be smart to follow his example.”

“Well isn’t Jack Zimmermann such a fucking saint?” Kendel spit. “Do you know what he told me, after three years of sleeping next to him every night and cleaning him up while he was high and making sure that he wasn’t high for the games and trying to keep him under control while he was falling apart? Do you know what he told me after I learned that my boyfriend of three years lands himself in the hospital and then won’t let me see him because I, a girl who had the impossible dream of being a part of the NHL, went first in the draft? DO YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT HE SAID?”

Shitty looks like all of alcohol had forcibly been pushed out of his system by her words.

“He told me that he had never loved me,” Kendal seethes. “He told me that we were just teammates hooking up.”

“Jack wouldn’t—“

Kendel laughs hallow. “And you know what? That was the first goddamn relationship that I had ever had. I was fifteen when we got together and Jack fucking Zimmermann broke my heart. He told me that he didn’t love me and then he didn’t talk to me for four years. Paint me as the villainess of your story, Shitty, but get your goddamn facts straight.”

Kendel slams the door on her way out.

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

It’s around November 2014 when she gets an odd text.

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ Your boy will come play for us.

It’s not that odd for her to get texts for Alexei. He likes to send her cat videos that he thinks that she’ll find funny or to ask her how she’s doing or to chirp her about one of her games. It’s probably sad, but it’s likely the steadiest friendship that she has outside of her family and her team.

 _To Alexei Mashkov:_ What?

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ Zimmermann. He’s joining the Falconers.

 _To Alexei Mashkov:_ Good for you.

After an entire bottle of wine that she will regret tomorrow during the optional skate that is most definitely not optional for the captain, she texts him again.

 _To Alexei Mashkov:_ Don’t ever call Zimmermann my boy again. He’ll tell you he never was.

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

Luckily, November 2014 also brings some better news.

 _From Sid:_ So.

 _To Sid:_ Yes?

 _From Sid:_ I may or may not be getting married this summer.

 _To Sid:_ WHAT THE FUCK SERIOUSLY

 _From Sid:_ Yeah.

 _To Sid:_ . . . You’re marrying Geno, aren’t you?

 _To Sid:_ I KNEW THEY WEREN’T RUMORS

 _To Sid:_ KANER OWES ME A HUNDRED BUCKS

 _From Sid:_ You bet on my love life?

 _To Sid:_ TELL KANER TO SUCK IT. GENO/SID FOR LIFE

 _From Sid:_ Why did I do this to my life

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

From Patricia Kane’s Instagram Account:

_**patricia_kane** _

Album: GENO/SID 5eva

29,437 **Likes** 7,543 **Shares** 5,433 **Comments**

**Comments:**

_Sidneycrosby:_ Thanks, Pat!  <3

 _Ken_parson:_ did Sidney Crosby just use an emoticon? I’m going to faint.

 _Evgenimalkin:_ you jealous.

 _Ken_parson:_ of what?

 _Evgenimalkin:_ that I have her.

 _JordieS:_ Let’s be honest, we’re all jealous of the man who has Sidney Crosby.

 _Patricia_Kane:_ Please. Geno doesn’t have her, she has Geno.

 _Sidneycrosby:_ ;)

 _Ken_parson:_ that smiley face has told me more things than I have ever wanted to know.

 _Evgenimalkin:_ )))))))))))))))))

 _Ken_parson:_ dear god why

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

Two things happen over the summer apart from Sid’s wedding:

  
1\. Jack officially goes to the Falconers.  
2\. Kendel does a very unfortunate photoshoot for the Las Vegas Aces.

It’s not exactly suspect while they’re doing it, and Kendel’s been through so many of these things that she doesn’t even think about it when she gives it the go-ahead.

Kendel doesn’t have a google alert for herself on her phone (that’s a recipe for low self-esteem) so Alexei is the one who tells her.

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ I think you look very good, but I also know that you will not like.

There’s a link below it that Kendel is extremely hesitant to click on, but at the same time, she can’t stop herself.

She’s in a larger size jersey than usual that reaches down to the middle of her thighs and she’d just removed her helmet and her hair looks artfully ruffled rather than flat and boring than it usually does. Her leggings are white and skintight. She’s got her legs spread across a locker room bench and she remembers that she was looking over her shoulder to give a particularly nasty chirp to Carster about his sexual prowess.

It’s . . . a really good photo, actually.

It also makes her look like a whore.

It’s got about nine hundred comments and nearly all of them are about how this is why women shouldn’t be in the NHL.

Kendel nearly throws her phone against the wall.

Frustrated tears roll down her cheeks. She had never been that girl. She had never been attractive enough to be considered a temptation, but now, now, she can look at the photo and think that there’s a girl that Jack Zimmermann would have stayed with, but all that means is that there’s a girl who wouldn’t make it in professional hockey.

After a half hour of frustrated crying, Kendel picks up her phone again.

 _To Alexei Mashkov:_ I can’t be pretty and a hockey player.

Alexei doesn’t respond for the rest of the night. Kendel is reminded about time zones and tries not to feel too disappointed. She rolls into bed and knows that she won’t be in that much trouble because PR approved the photos, but she’s probably going to get an earful anyway.

She wakes up to four new messages.

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ I know that it not matter but

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ you just as pretty when you score two points during the game we first met

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ and you just as good hockey player in photo as you are in all your pads.

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ and you a good and beautiful person without hockey or looks. But you have both and more.

She wonders if it’s possible to fall in love with someone through text messages, cat videos and slamming someone into the boards every month.

 _To Alexei Mashkov:_ It matters.

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

Her first game against Jack Zimmermann is in less than twenty-four hours.

Kendel is a mess and the entirety of the hockey world can see it.

Kendel sits in her press conference and feels like the entire world can read the sign over her heart that says that “this is a girl that Jack Zimmermann couldn’t love” with their little barbs about their partnership.

“What’s it like to face off against the man that was once your lover?”

The question comes out from the dark and no one, NO ONE, has ever said it out loud in the press conferences. There has been hints and sly little grins but no one has accused it. She can hear the other reporters hush out of respect for the audacity while Kendel gasps for an answer and draws a complete blank because she has no possible idea how she’s supposed to spin this because she’s dying.

“I . . . I—I mean, it’s been a long time . . . and—and I’m just happy he’s playing—and obviously I want him to do well—but not that well—because it’s always good to win—Jack and I—it was a long time ago--“

And then thank god for Paul because he sweeps her out of there and she just sits in the hallway and hyperventilates because she basically outed the relationship that keeps her up at night to the world and there’s two things that are running through her mind:

What’s Jack going to do when he sees this?

And then later and more urgent:

What’s Jack going to say to Alexei?

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

“The Legendary Partnership is a Legendary Romance” is the title that Deadspin runs with and Kendel, in her masochism, reads the entire thing.

She hates how accurate it is. It’s even right about Jack dropping her like dead weight.

After that particularly painful exercise, she shoots off one text and then turns her phone off until after the game.

To Jack: I’m so sorry.

She feels like she should ask him to not be mad, but that’s not how that works. And she remembers the last time that he was mad.

Perhaps his sweet Southern boy has taught Jack some anger management.

It’s the best that she can hope for.

When she gets to the rink, Carster looks her in the eye, wraps her in a hug and says, “You know that we can’t lose now.”

And oh, she knows. She can’t be the girl who loses a match to her old boyfriend. The media would rip her a new one. Her teammates would rip her a new one. She would rip herself a new one.

She tries to catch Jack’s eye during the game, to apologize, to explain. She didn’t mean anything, she just froze!

He won’t look at her.

She has to win.

So Kendel slams herself into the goal in the end of the third and basically runs into Snowy and the puck goes in the net with a flurry of limbs and skates. But the ref says that the goal is valid and that’s all that Kendel cares about right now.

But then Alexei drags Kendel out of the goal and curses and growls “you rat” with absolutely no humor in her direction. His sweet eyes that assured her that she was beautiful the first time that she saw him have absolutely no warmth in them now. He skates away from her without looking back as her teammates crowd their game-winning captain.

Of course.

She’s a hockey player. She’s not like Sid and Pat. She doesn’t get a fairy tale.

She’s not worth that.

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

Shitty Knight (and what kind of name is that, seriously?) is the one waiting for her outside the locker room this time.

She was hoping for Alexei.

Kendel slips her Aces cap over her freshly showered hair backwards. “Hey.”

Shitty gives a flat wave and a small but honest smile. “Yo.”

Kendel tucks some blonde hair behind her ear nervously. “Tell Jack I’m sorry for all that. I didn’t mean for it to come out or anything. I know that he didn’t want anyone to know but I just . . . I just froze.”

“If Jack blames you for that, he’s a lesser man than I thought,” Shitty says casually.

“Alexei does,” Kendel says, almost petulantly.

“Wow. He did not seem like the type.”

“Yeah, well, apparently I have one.”

“Hmmmm?”

“Asshole hockey players who are extremely sweet until they aren’t.” Kendel’s nails are biting to her hands hard enough to be painful. Kendel closes her eyes harshly and the silence seems to stretch onto infinity. “Why are you here, Shitty?”

“I wanted to see how you were doing,” he says quietly.

There’s something about Shitty, something about his quiet, unassuming acceptance, that makes it okay for her to share everything.

“I’m the villain of this story, remember?” Kendel says to the wall. “I’m the side character of the epic story of Jack Zimmermann, the reminder of his past, the girl that he couldn’t leave behind. Now, I’m the girl who revealed our teenage love affair to the world, I’m the slut that put out for her teammate at fifteen, I’m the spurred girl who ran over a goalie to get one over on her boyfriend. I’m the girl who just lost the one guy who made me feel like maybe I could start over after Jack, because of one of the reasons above!”

Kendel takes a deep breath. “I’m not fine. Us girls in the NHL, we keep telling each other that we’re not going to be that girl. We’re not going to be that girl that ruins everything for future generations, we’re not going to be the girl that the future sport critics point at and say ‘She’s why we decided that women in the NHL were a bad idea.’ And now, for the next month or so, I’m that girl. All because I accidently spread my story. All because I was dumb enough to think that the guy that I dated when I was fifteen loved me back!”

“I did.”

The quiet voice cuts across the silence left by Kendel’s raging. Kendel and Shitty both whip around to see Jack coming out of the opposite locker room.

“I thought that everyone was gone,” Kendel murmurs. She’s too drained to feel embarrassed. She’s too empty of blood to blush.

Jack is staring at her with the quiet intensity that she had found so attractive when she was young, like every ounce of his attention was focused on her. “I did love you. I’m sorry I convinced you that I didn’t.”

“No,” she denies, the venom of six years in her voice, “no, you don’t get to say that now. It’s been six fucking years of me getting over you, of me dealing with the fact that I let myself believe that you loved me and trying to find out what was so wrong with me that you would string me along like that. You don’t get to say that now!”

The last word cracks on a sob.

Jack wraps her arms around her. Behind her, she sees a shorter blonde head of hair stand next to Shitty.

“I’m so sorry, Kenny,” Jack keeps whispering. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Fuck you, Jack Zimmermann,” she responds. “Fuck you.”

Jack loosens his grips once her tears start to flow. “I’m sorry I lied back then. I’m sorry that I don’t love you now.”

Kendel shakes her head and looks back to see Eric standing next to Shitty, watching the two of them with warmth. If Kendel had been in his place, it would have been jealousy.

“I don’t want you to,” she tells Jack, her own honesty surprising her. “I don’t love you anymore either.”

Jack wraps her in a hug again, and Shitty just smiles in the background.

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

Battery Fully Charged.

Power On.

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ you okay???

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ I worry, please respond.

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ I come see you?

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ I knew you with ZImmboni. I not mad. He not mad.

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ I care about you, not history.

 _From Paul:_ We’ll talk damage control after the game. I’ve already gotten into contact with George. Unless Zimmermann wants to make this a big thing it won’t be a big thing.

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ You not respond, you not want to talk to me?

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ Maybe I misunderstand but Zimmboni says you love him?

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ I thought

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ I not know what I thought

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ It not true now anyway

 _From Jack:_ It’s fine. Tater’s getting anxious about you.

 _From Alexei Mashkov:_ have good game.

 _From Jack:_ And by anxious I mean pissed.

 _From Jack:_ I’ll try to find you after.

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

[From the press release of Kendel Parson]

{ . . . Jack Zimmermann and I were in a consensual, romantic relationship for three years, from the time that I was fifteen to the time that I was drafted. We decided on a mutual split after the draft due to our different directions in life. Despite both being professional hockey players now, we are not going to continue or restart our relationship and do not plan to do so in the future. We do not anticipate that this will affect our gameplay at all.

Just as the other women in the NHL, I stand by the fact that having a past romantic connection with another hockey player will not harm my play anymore than it would harm that male counterpart in the relationship and any bias towards me and me alone is outright sexism. Jack Zimmermann agrees with me on this account and would like to remind the media that the relationship concluded in its entirety over six years ago . . . }

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

Alexei comes by three days later.

Kendel is steadily making way through a bottle of wine and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s that will likely hijack her diet plan for the next week, but she’s in the middle of both mourning and celebration, so she figures that she can not care for a little while.

When there’s a knock on her door, she assumes it’s another one of her dumb teammates clearly not seeing that she is in mourning/celebration—MOURNING/CELEBRATION DAMMIT—and opens the door with a dramatic flair.

So it’s Alexei. And she’s standing there in only a neo-pink sports bra and men’s pajama pants plastered with moose because occasionally her teammates are assholes.

Kendel reminds herself that she is twenty-three years old and it is beneath her dignity to slam her door in his face, no matter how much she wants to.

To be fair, Alexei looks a little speechless at the sight of her abs and she preens for a moment before she remembers that she’s mad at him.

“I sorry,” Alexei starts, pushing his shoulders back and staring her directly in the eyes. “I upset and jealous and all I think about it that you love Zimmboni and not me and then you hurt Snowy to score and adrenaline and . . .” He takes a deep breath and rests one hand on her cheek. It covers half of her face. “I so sorry I say that to you. You are beautiful and good and deserve more than that.”

Kendel covers his hand with her own. She is kind of fond of how small her hands are compared to his. She’s so used to being bigger than all the other girls. “Yes, I do deserve more than that,” she says, watching as Alexei’s face falls a bit, “but you also deserve a second chance. I needed one.”

“I like you, Kendel,” Alexei says quietly, bringing his other hand up to frame her face. “I would like this to work.”

“I would like it to work too. And you can call me Kenny.”

His eyes shone. “Then you can call me Alyosha.”

“Alyosha.”

Alexei grimaces. “We work on it.”

Kendel laughs, the one that she hated that was more of a snort than a giggle, and Alexei just looks besotted.

Kendel is the one who drags Alexei down for their first kiss.

Alexei in all his six foot five inches of glory allows himself to be lead.

 

UoUoUoUoUoUoUoU

 

Kendel Parson **@kenparsonofficial**

Step back, Jack. I’ve got a new favorite Falconer. #alyoshabest #Aledel #hellyeahimadeupmyownshipname

10,006 **favs** 7,654 **retweets**

**Comments:**

_@sidneycrosby_ : **@kenparsonofficial** how did you get more favorites than my goddamn wedding?

 _@pattykane_ : Retweeting until it’s trending #alyoshabest #aledel #kenxei would have been badass though

 _@zimmermannofficial_ : **@kenparsonofficial** happy for you, Kenny

 _@tatermashkov_ : **@zimmermannofficial** away, Zimmboni, away!

 _@ericbittle_ : **@tatermashkov** don’t worry, he’s mine

 _@zimmermannofficial_ : **@ericbittle** yep.

 _@pattykane_ : **@ericbittle @zimmermannofficial** what.

 _@tatermashkov:_ **@ericbittle @zimmermannofficial** what.

 _@sidneycrosby:_ **@ericbittle @zimmermannofficial** what.

 _@waynegretzky:_ **@ericbittle @zimmermannofficial** what.

 _@babbobzimmermann:_ **@ericbittle @zimmermannofficial** what.

 _@kenparsonofficial:_ **@ericbittle @zimmermannofficial** oh shit son, you done it now. #laughinghysterically #thatswhatyougetforstealingmythunder

 _@kenparsonofficial:_ **@zimmermannofficial** happy for you, zimms

**Author's Note:**

> Leave kudos or a comment on your way out!


End file.
